fa·til·o·quist
by cynicalbroad
Summary: Fatiloquist - "A fortune teller." / The choir run a back-alley fortune shop with Simon as their epileptic fatiloquist, and Ralph proves himself to be idiosyncratic. / Another old ficlet from last year.
The feeling of the cheap silk against skin was a feeling Simon made sure to never subject himself to again, but Maurice said he had reason in beckoning him over, so he sat on the couch in the choir room no one ever actually used patiently. Choir practice had ended a while ago, and Simon would have to walk home anyway, so there wasn't any reason to be in a rush.

Multiple members of the choir still milled about, likely waiting for family to pick them up. Henry, who, over the years, had grown in age but not so much in emotional individuality, had followed Simon to sit. Having taken up the role of a sibling figure to him, Simon's fingers trailed through his short hair gently in hopes of comforting him as he clambered into the older's lap.

"We've got you another customer, Si," Maurice sing songed with a smile after a overly dramatic span of time.

Not stopping the gentle raking of Henry's hair, Simon released a frustrated breath. "You mean you've taken the money of another gullible fool and want me to go give them a fortune we aren't even sure is legitimate." Maurice nodded with a thoughtful smile. "That was the idea!"

"...Why does Jack keep doing this, anyway? Actually, better question, how does he keep finding people desperate enough to come to _me_ for a fortune?" Simon bit, almost uncharacteristically bitter, Had they been in the presence of said head boy, he would've held his tongue, knowing how easily he would misconstrue the distaste for being a makeshift oracle. It's not like Simon really minded actually doing it, but the way Jack got "customers" irked him.

"College is a _mystical place_ , Simon. It's full of opportunity. And misguided fools. I can't wait for you to join us." At Simon's glare that was notably invalidated by his fretting over the younger choir mate in his lap, the eldest smirked and waved his hand dismissively. "No, really, though. The guy he's got now's friends with the last person you read. Pigster, was it?" He giggled immaturely at the nickname. "He probably put a good word in, Merridew didn't even have to threaten bodily harm!"

"Mmm. So, do you know anything about him already?" Simon's fingers began to braid Henry's hair loosely, taking care not to intwine the strands too tight to unravel once his parents arrived to give him a ride. Maurice snorted in reply.

"Of course. Merridew's kind of obsessed with the kid, actually." Flipping through an imaginary checklist, Maurice began listing off information.

"Name's Ralph. 18. Blond. Passionate. Natural leader. Quite aloof. _Devilishly attractive_." At the last one, he swooned exaggeratedly, but Simon paid no mind.

"..Are him and Jack actually _friends_?" Maurice jumped up from his fakey case of the vapours quickly and wore a face splitting grin. "Why? Are you jealous? Is 'Devilishly Attractive' your type?"

A red tint stained Simon's dark cheeks as he ceased his play in Henry's hair with a gentle squeeze of the younger's hand, sending him off to wait with the other older boys. Discussion of whether he was or was not jealous of Merridew's relations with a boy Simon has never met was none of Henry's concern.

"Of course not! I don't even know him- I'm just trying to get an idea of his character before we meet." Simon explained, hoping it didn't sound as lame to Maurice as it did to himself.

Maurice maintained the same smug smile, but answered the question all the same. "Well, they're not quite friends. He seems to respect him, but I'm pretty sure 'ol Jack Merridew pushes his buttons in a bad way. _Especially_ when Roger's around."

Roger, despite being on the other side of the room with one foot out the door, looked over at the mention of his name. His eyes were their usual caged obsidian and Simon waved shakily in hopes of dismissing him. At seeing the younger boy, Roger seemed mildly placated and continued on his way.

Sighing in relief, Simon looked back to Maurice. "When am I meeting him?"

Maurice, seemingly entirely unphased by Roger, replied happily. "Tomorrow! You're just meeting at the usual place, okay? About oneish, Jack said."

Simon nodded mutely, and watched as Maurice stretched lazily. "Is there anything else you want to know? Because we should really get going."

Examining his surroundings, Simon noted that they were alone in the facility. "No, I think that'll work." Simon muttered, finding himself falling into the dreamy mood he often did as he stood up to follow Maurice out.

xx

The next day came and time passed quickly, most likely due to it being one of many lazy weekend days Simon was accustomed. When his clock shone 12:00pm, he dressed himself in fit attire for going outside (Aforementioned attire being something suspiciously close to his school uniform) and wrote a note explaining his absence in case of the spontaneous return of some member of his family. Walking down the long, scenic way he was familiar with to his destination, Simon felt himself becoming a bit anxious. Every time he did this he felt the cool stab of anxiety, and it was one of the many things that deterred him from his friend's schemes. Going up to someone he didn't know and simply spewing whatever he thought would happen in their future was very nerve racking, if only from years of being called batty for saying... anything, really.

He reached the location a bit earlier than he needed to, and he took in the sights as he had many times before. The building was quite small, and it was covered in graffiti done by himself and the rest of the choir. Most of it was themed with tropical imagery, but most noticeably was the beautifully painted conch painstakingly created above the doorway, originally a breathtaking pink, but now a faded white. The building was once some sort of parlor, and the aesthetics of it still remained fitting for its present use, which was more or less the play of teenage boys.

Lighting was provided by lanterns brought by both Jack and previous clientele, and the weak shine from the dying batteries casted an eerie glow. Laid out on rotting tables was all sorts of things Simon wasn't even completely sure how to use. Tarot cards, shiny crystal balls, incenses. Most of the time, he just trusted his intuition and divulged whatever his head made for him. It was all quite creepy, and admittedly the only person he'd ever spoken to about it in depth was Roger, only because he knew he'd never say anything to discomfort Roger.

Hearing another set of footsteps on the worn wooden floors, Simon looked to the doors and saw who he'd be working with.

He fit Maurice's description - Blond, a couple of years older than Simon, presently looking about as prone to daydreams as himself. He was quite attractive, but not devilishly so.

Perhaps Jack only found him appealing as his cyan eyes so resembled his own.

He appeared to have a commanding presence, having a sense of belonging even in such a strange place. Simon vaguely thought of how he'd let this man lead him in a heartbeat, immediately feeling a burning sense of trust. Which was more embarrassing than he wanted to admit.

He spoke first, voice coming out low and himself feeling faint. "Hello."

The older male's eyes became focused, and he walked further into the dank building.

"I-I suppose you're Ralph?"

The man nodded proudly.

"You're the one who's to tell me of my future?" Ralph inquired. He looked doubtful. Concerningly so.

Simon awkwardly bleated in affirmation.

Ralph examined him quietly, clearly unsure of how to continue. The lantern light painted his face eerily. Simon, feeling awkward and scrutinized in the tiny space, sputtered and grabbed Ralph's hands.

"I'm just going to start, alright? Tell me about yourself, especially what you've been thinking of recently." He slowly conditioned himself not to focus on the clamminess of his hands, or his pulse firing through his body, or the reaction he was drawing from Ralph. He looked hard into the cyan irises looking back at him uneasily.

Ralph's voice began hesitant and slow, but eventually became a sort of energetic buzz in the back of Simon's mind. He tried to process the existence his client, what impression he got from him, what he made him feel, until-

A vision began.

There was a shore, waves crashing. Besides him was his client, whose hands were no longer connected to his, but body doubly as close. Further down that direction was a thick forest with a foreboding air.

This was a scene he'd seen many times. Most of the time, even, it was here, on this strange island. He supposed maybe it was a past life, an alternate reality, stringing their existences together for better or for worse... He knew every time he came here he was years younger, shades tanner, remarkably weaker. His clients always seemed younger too, but their personality rung the same as they did in their own reality.

What was different each time was the conditions of their meetings.

Sometimes it was in the dead of night, alone in a closed space, hushed whispers echoing all around (He'd had this vision with Piggy).

Sometimes it was during some sort of an assembly, an unseeable speaker droning on in the distance (He'd had this with Maurice, when he'd humored him enough to test it out).

Sometimes it was next to a roaring fire, everything else seemingly swallowed with darkness, faint chanting consuming them (This one was the scariest - He'd had it with Jack, the first time he'd ever done it).

On very rare occasions, he found himself with a client in a wonderful hidden alcove that truly felt like home to him (Usually with younger clients, but most memorably with Henry).

But now he was simply sitting upon pink granite, looking off into the ocean, listening to the vibrating heartbeat of the world around him. Ralph, sitting adjacent, seemed to have a gaze boring into him. They said nothing, a thing completely abnormal to him in these hallucinations, but his heart swum with more raw emotion than it ever had before.

He looked over to this person he so trusted, so cared about, so felt for, and saw that held in this fair haired boy's hands was the conch he had heard distantly in so many visions. He'd been so fascinated with he'd marked it upon the parlor itself. His skin crawled with an urge to do something, but it was too indistinct to comprehend what, a faint itch he couldn't place. His face was scrunched, trying to disconcern what all this meant in the miniscule amount time he was given to process it, when he noticed that water had dripped down his chin.

He brought a hand up to scrub at his dark cheeks, looking at his palm with confusion, the calloused appendage painted with moistened dirt and the faintest amount of dried blood-

And as suddenly as that, the vision ended.

Simon gasped and teetered, reawakening dizzy and out of place. Ralph held him steady, now grabbing his wrist as opposed to his hands, looking shell shocked himself. Simon lost his balance and fell into the blond, and realized with shock that the tears trailing down his face still remained.

"You-"

Ralph seemed confused and almost childishly scared, looking at Simon with wide eyes. Simon internally grimaced, feeling guilty for worrying him. Imagine having to pay to have someone fall against you in a faint!

Simon was only supposed to be a sort of messenger of emotions in the visions, a liaison to their future. What he felt, what he saw, what they were doing was all just a metaphorical outside view of what as soon to happen. His job was interpreting the situation, what it meant for his client. It wasn't supposed to affect _himself_. He wasn't supposed to wake up feeling everything as if it had actually happened to him, involved him, been about him.

But what had that vision meant?

"...You're going to fall in love. Far from everyone else. Your love will be so passionate, it will drive the person you love to tears. It may even bring them pain. Or perhaps it'll cure their pain? Um, something like that." Simon stammered, hoping he had properly interpreted what he saw.

Ralph looked horribly confused as Simon wobbily let go of him. Simon wondered if he had even processed the fortune he had offered.

"What was that? Jack never mentioned that happening- the crying. Are you okay? Is something wrong? Am I going to die?" Ralph spoke rapid-fire, eyes darting around Simon's face for signs suggesting his eminent death.

Simon smiled tiredly, scrubbing at his eyes. Fog still danced around the corner of his vision, tinted suspiciously like pink granite. "It's never happened. I guess I have more to do with your future than I usually do."

Gears in the aloof man's head turned until his expression shifted in an abrupt way. A flush spread across his cheeks, his hand going to grab the back of his neck awkwardly. "Wait, are you implying-?"

Simon passed by Ralph quickly, tapping his arm on his way to the door. "I'm not sure. I guess we'll see, Chief." Once outside of the parlor, with the flustered Ralph still inside, Simon hazily walked back down the scenic route home, mulling over the feeling curling around inside his chest.

Maybe he'd ask Jack where Ralph lived at the next choir practice.


End file.
